


Introductions

by fuzipenguin



Series: Down the Rabbit Hole [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Delusions, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Sunday is confused; why is this kid acting like they know each other?





	Introductions

            “Hi.”

            Sunday glared through the fringe of his bangs at the kid who had suddenly invited himself to sit down. He was the one who had gotten him tranqued. Sunday already wasn’t a big fan.

            “What do you want?” Sunday growled, pulling his tray closer to himself and hunching over it. The other guy was kinda scrawny. Wiry, maybe. Could be he was hungry and wanted to steal the new guy’s food. Well, that for shit wasn’t happening, no matter how unappetizing the food was.

            “Just to say hi!” the kid chirped, waving a hand. “First day out in Gen-Pop, huh? They had you in iso for three days. I kept trying to come see you, but they said no visitors. That you were healing.”

            His gaze flicked down to the bandages covering Sunday’s wrists. It was a fight not to pull his arms into his jacket, to hide the evidence. This kid had no right to judge him though, so Sunday kept his arms where they were.

            And thought more about what the guy had just said. “You tried to come see me?”

            “Well, yeah. I mean, I was kinda responsible for getting you tackled the other day. They would have caught you eventually, but I made things a little easier for them. Sorry ‘bout that,” the guy said.

            Sunday blinked at him in surprise. No one apologized to him. Not ever. Even if Sunday wasn’t at fault.

            He didn’t know how to respond. So he shrugged and turned his attention back to his lunch. Soup and a sandwich and overall utterly boring. His stomach was still roiling from the meds they had placed him on. They said it would fade, but until then Sunday was resigned to losing some of his hard-won muscle.

            “Sooo… my name’s Sid. I’m delusional. And I have hallucinations.”

            Sunday grimaced at his hunk of bread. “Really? Is that how everyone introduces themselves around here?” he scoffed.

            “Sometimes. Unless you can already tell. You’ve got major depressive disorder. And you were recently suicidal. I’m sorry about that, Sunny,” Sid replied, voice lowering as he leaned forward against the table.

            Sunday looked up, glaring. The kid looked sad, almost disappointed in him. And what right did he have for that? They didn’t know each other; Sid knew nothing about him!

            And like a switch, he felt the familiar rage flood his body. He shoved the tray aside, milk splashing onto the floor. He reached across the table and yanked Sid up by the hem of his tee-shirt, the other boy squawking in surprise.

            “What the fuck do you know about it?” Sunday demanded. He wondered if Sid could guess now that Sunday also had IED.

            Sid’s eyes were wide, (and damn but they were blue. Sunday didn’t know anyone other than himself with eyes that particular shade) but his voice was calm and even.

            “Nothing. But you’ll tell me why you did it. Eventually.”

            Sunday sneered and tightened his fist, Sid swallowing at the constricting collar of his shirt. But he didn’t struggle. He didn’t fight back or call out for help, he just stared at Sunday with the most ridiculous smile on his face.

            “No, I won’t. I don’t want to talk to anybody in this place. Especially not some punk ass little bitch like you,” Sunday growled.

            If anything, Sid’s smile grew bigger. It was honestly starting to freak Sunday out a little.

            “I’ve missed you,” he breathed, reaching up and gently encircling Sunday’s wrist. “Even this.”

            Sunday released the kid with a startled curse. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t know you,” he spat, now warily leaning back from the table. What was _wrong_   with this guy?

            Oh, right. Delusions. Hallucinations.

            “Your mind doesn’t. But the spark never forgets.” Sid stood up and he waved again, this time at Sunday’s utterly confused face. “I’ll see you around, bro.”

            He ambled off, hands in the pockets of his lounge pants. Sunday stared after him, suddenly realizing that he was well and truly stuck in this place full of crazy people. He was depressed and suicidal, sure, but that was nothing in comparison to people like Sid.

 

~ End


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